Part 9 (2/2)
”Anything the matter?” I inquired.
”Oh no. I was detained down town,” replied Bob.
”I can't do anything for you, then?”
”No; I'll be in bed in a couple of minutes.”
”You acted so peculiarly when you came in that I thought you might be ill.”
”I was never better in my life. I went up stairs that way because I was tired.”
”A very extraordinary effect of fatigue,” I said.
”I say!” cried Bob, ”don't say anything to your wife about it. There's no use of getting up an excitement about nothing.”
I went to bed convinced that something was wrong, and determined to compel Bob to confess on the morrow what it was. After breakfast we sat smoking together on the porch, and then I remarked:
”Bob, I wish you to tell me plainly what you meant by that extraordinary caper on the stairs last night. I think I ought to know. I don't want to meddle with your private affairs, but it seems to me only the proper thing for you to give me a chance to advise you if you are in trouble of any kind. And then you know I am occupying just now a sort of a parental relation to you, and I want to overhaul you if you have been doing anything wrong.”
”I don't mind explaining the matter to you,” replied Bob. ”It don't amount to much, anyhow, but it's a little rough on a fellow, and I'd rather not have the whole town discussing it.”
”Well?”
”You know old Magruder's? Well, I went around there last night to see Bessie; and as it was a pleasant evening, we thought we would remain out on the porch. She sat in a chair near the edge, and I placed myself at her feet on one of the low wooden steps in front. We stayed there talking about various things and having a pretty fair time, as a matter of course, until about nine o'clock, when I said I thought I'd have to go.”
”You came home later, I think.”
”Well, you know, some mutton-headed carpenter had been there during the day mending the rustic chairs on the porch, and he must have put his glue-pot down on the spot where I sat, for when I tried to rise I found I couldn't budge.”
”You and Cooley's boy seem to have a fondness for that particular kind of adventure.”
”Just so. And when I made an effort to get upon my feet, Bessie said, 'Don't be in a hurry; it's early yet,' and I told her I believed I would stay a little while longer. So I sat there for about two hours, and during the frightful gaps in the conversation I busied myself thinking how I could get away without appearing ridiculous. It hurts a man's chances if he makes himself ridiculous before a woman he is fond of. So you see I didn't know whether to ask Bessie to go in the house while I partially disrobed and went home in Highland costume, or whether to give one terrific wrench and then proceed down the yard backward. I couldn't make up my mind; and as midnight approached, Bessie, who was dreadfully sleepy, said, at last, in utter despair, she would have to excuse herself for the rest of the evening.”
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”Then, you understand, I was nearly frantic, and I asked her suddenly if she thought her father would lend me his front steps for a few days. She looked sort of scared, and went in after old Magruder. When he came out, I made him stoop down while I explained the situation to him. He laughed and hunted up a hatchet and saw, and cut away the surrounding timber, so that I came home with only about a square foot of wood on my trousers. Very good of the old man, wasn't it, to smash up his steps in that manner? And the reason why I kind of sidled up stairs was that I feared you'd see that wooden patch and want to know about it. That's all. Queer sort of an affair, wasn't it?”
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Then Mr. Parker darted off for the purpose of overtaking Miss Magruder, who at that moment happened to pa.s.s upon the other side of the street.
As Mr. Parker disappeared, Mrs. Adeler came out upon the porch from the hall, and placing her hand upon my shoulder, said,
”You are not going to publish that story of the attempt of the _Argus_ to establish a department of obituary poetry, are you?”
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